Watching From the Shadows
by StarlitWave10
Summary: Montparnasse discovers a secret as he hides from the light and unwanted eyes.
1. Chapter 1

**Oh gosh, I have so many other things to do, but this plot bunny jumped right into my head and WON'T LEAVE! That might also be because I want an excuse to not do my English homework…But my procrastination will hopefully be worth it if you like this piece, enjoy! **

She is beautiful. He stares because, even though this is someone else's home and her father had always told them to _Grab as much as you can carry, but always make sure you never leave a part of yourself behind,_ she had insisted on staying, and besides, he is enjoying the view.

Eponine drops a curtsey in front of the mirror, and Montparnasse grins from where he is leaning against the doorframe. He is careful to be silent, because he has found Eponine to be like a deer: if she hears even the softest sound, she runs away, and tracking her down afterwards is a near impossibility.

But she is laughing and waving a fan in front of her face, and Montparnasse finds himself chuckling at the young girl playing dress-up. The dress she'd found is a light shade of blue, adorned with various jewels and ribbons. The young man had kept his ripped shirt and pants on, ready to fly at a moment's notice. Eponine giggles again and Montparnasse can't help but wonder who it is that she is imagining standing there right in front of her, making her smile wider and truer than he'd ever seen.

He suspects it is that rich boy, Marius. _Every deer has its safe haven, _he thinks shrewdly, and Marius's side is definitely Eponine's. However…Montparnasse suddenly remembers a different boy with blonde hair, the one that he has seen making speeches in different squares around Paris. He remembers how Eponine had insisted they stop to listen to one of his speeches, to the pretty words that, to Montparnasse, were nothing more than that. Just words that a bourgeois boy was throwing around because he had nothing better to do with his time.

But Eponine had paused. There was a light in her eyes, if only for a second, before she smirked at the pretty words coming from the man who looked to be made of marble. Even so, she had lingered, and for the first time in Montparnasse's life, _he _had been the one to tug on her arm, alert her that the police were coming. Quick as lightning, her eyes had focused back onto the task at hand and they'd disappeared into the crowd. But now…Eponine twirls her thin body in front of the mirror, her smile never leaving her face. Montparnasse looks at his tattered rags and, for a moment, wants to do something kind for the poor girl.

He walks over, one arm behind his back, and bows deeply. Eponine takes a quick step back, her eyes aflame. Clearly, the man courting her in her daydream is not young 'Parnasse. Even so, she curtseys and, although her grin is gone, there is still a hint of a smile on her face. It is sadder now, however, and Montparnasse feels guilty that he had ruined her daydream. But, nonetheless, they dance, two young children of the streets, one dressed as the woman she could have become, and one whose mind is firmly stuck in reality.

Something creaks and they break away from one another, Eponine mumbling something about finding her clothes and 'Parnasse stroking his knife with the same movement that had so recently been stroking her waist. A voice echoes up the stairs and he moves swiftly, gently holding his knife in his hand, his jaw clenched, his mind prepared to strike. But Eponine grabs onto his arm and holds him back. The dress is gone, hung back up in the closet, and the rags have turned her into a street rat once more. Her eyes, cloudy with a daydream five minutes ago, are now blazing with sureness, a quality Montparnasse has always found captivating about her.

"Don't hurt him, 'Parnasse," she whispers. "Let me take care of him. I'll bring the goods to father, don't you worry. You know how he doesn't like others doing my dirty work." Her voice is husky and determined, but he hesitates, terrified as to what her father might do to him if he comes back alone. But Montparnasse is a big boy, and he does not hesitate for long. He steps aside, away from the front entrance, as she gives him a little shove towards the back door.

"Leave, 'Parnasse," she whispers. "I'll be home soon." Her eyes suddenly lose their fire for a moment, and he knows what she's thinking, that her father will not be satisfied with what they have taken, that he will never be satisfied. That the place she calls home resembles a prison more than a place of comfort.

But then they're alight again, and the last he sees of her is her ripped brown skirt disappearing through the door, and then he is leaving through the other one, the one that leads to the streets and to freedom. He wonders, for a moment, if Eponine's door led to freedom for her as well.

Then, suddenly, he stops. The street name is merely a blur of lines, but he knows that he's stopped at the corner. He turns his head, looks back at the small white house. Guilt races through him, and his protective side takes over, urging his legs to take him back to the house and save Eponine. At the very least, it may help him ascend in the eyes of the gang and perhaps, most importantly, her father. At the most…Montparnasse knew Eponine had been beautiful once. With those rich clothes, she was beautiful again, even with her sunken cheeks and jutting collarbone. And perhaps, if he rescued her, she may finally consent and reward him…the young man who, in reality, is truly only a boy, nearly jumps with excitement and dashes off towards the house even faster, the wind at his back seeming to push him onward.

His face is red and flushed by the time he reaches the house. Without hesitation, he flicks open the knife and sneaks back through the door, walking on his tiptoes, just like Eponine had taught him. Hushed voices echo through the halls, and he realizes they are coming from the foyer. He can tell the female voice is Eponine's, and although the male voice is familiar, he cannot quite place it…

She laughs. That is the first thing that catches him off guard, and Montparnasse, known for his quick hand and nimble fingers, almost drops his knife. His fingers fly around its slippery hilt and grab on, his breath falters and disappears for a moment. All of a sudden, the memory slams into his mind and he stumbles, almost knocking over an expensive-looking vase. The male voice is the young man with the speeches, the one whose pretty words captivated Eponine that day, as well as so many other, if only for her to smirk at him.

Their voices grow silent and Montparnasse peeks around the doorframe. His eyes widen at the sight and the knife almost slips from his fingers once more. He quickly stuffs it into his pocket, curious to learn more and not be heard from his place in the shadows. If there was anything that Eponine's father liked more than money, it was information.

And this information was pure gold. The Old Thenardier had never liked it if anyone touched his daughter without his permission, and this young man was doing even _more_ than that. Montparnasse's eyes narrow; he isn't sure if that was from anger or jealousy. The young couple breaks apart gently, but his hands are still on the small of her back and her arms are wound around his neck and Montparnasse, the young boy in the shadows, can't help but wonder how long this has been going on.

"Will you be all right?" Montparnasse's ears perk up and he listens closer. He swears that he heard concern in the blonde man's voice, but that can't be right…why would a boy from the bourgeois care for someone like Eponine?

"Yes, don't worry. 'Parnasse left with only his knife; I can come up with an excuse as to why I came back with nothing." Montparnasse can't see her face, but he hears the smile in her voice. "I've always been a good liar. You of all people should know that, Enjolras."

There. His name. The boy in the shadows slinks closer, careful to avoid bringing his face into the light. Monsieur Enjolras. Even the name has a disgustingly wealthy ring to it.

Enjolras kisses Eponine again and Montparnasse has to hold on to the wall to stop himself from rushing forward, from taking back what is rightfully his. He sees her tug gently on the other man's hair and he feels sick. His eyes close and he leans against the wall, letting the cool stone chill his body. That was why the dress had fit Eponine so perfectly, why she had carefully hung it up rather than discarding it onto the floor. Why she had insisted upon his running away with nothing but the clothes on his back. His hand finds his knife again, and he flicks it through his fingers instinctively. They tense, prepared to strike down the boy with the pretty words, because Eponine needs to understand that she is _his. _

But then, Montparnasse feels a slight tugging in his chest. His heart awakens as his eyes notice the gentle way Enjolras rubs the young woman's back, the way he smiles down at her as if she were the most important person in the world. The way his eyes look at her with love in their depths. The young man whose own eyes only a few minutes previously were turned green with jealousy now smiles and tucks his knife away. Eponine's second life, though it is not with him, is bringing her joy. She turns her head slightly, and Montparnasse can see that the smile that is dancing on her face as she relaxes in the arms of her lover is the same one he'd seen in the mirror that morning.

**Fun fact: did you know, this originally started out as a poem? Proof that I can turn anything into an E/E fanfic…I'll let you tell me if that's a good thing or a bad thing.**


	2. Chapter 2

'Parnasse runs. He supposes he is running from the threat of being discovered, but that is too simple an explanation. He will later suspect that perhaps he is running from the truth, and that a small part of him is not altogether content with Eponine's secret life, but those are all hypothetical thoughts. For now, he just runs.

He feels the wind on his back, pushing him, urging him to keep going. The truth involves turning around and fighting with nature, and if Montparnasse is proud of one thing, it's his determination to do things the easy way. And right now, facing down Eponine's father is a lot easier than debating with his own internal feelings.

His steps slow and he finds himself looking off into the distance toward his home. He cannot see it, but he knows that if he weaves through the shadows, he will eventually arrive there, empty handed and slightly confused. He pushes the feelings of guilt to the back of his mind. He will be free from until he tells Eponine's father what he saw, at least. And no one keeps secrets from Thenardier.

Montparnasse closes his eyes. _Nothing good can come of Eponine being with that blonde boy_, he thinks, almost as if he is reassuring himself that telling Thenardier is the right course of action. As though a part of his heart will not weep when he will hear Thenardier's whip cracking over his daughter's back, and her stubborn, unyielding shrieks. He turns his head toward the wind. It blows back his hair, revealing his green eyes and high forehead. Normally, the boy would push his hair back over his eyes, afraid that someone might see his bright eyes and possibly remember him. Back when Eponine considered him more than tolerable, she would often comment on the sharp intensity of his eyes. Long bangs helped keep his greatest aid concealed, his secret weapon that often came in handy.

And that weapon might just be what gets Eponine her last beating.

The house stands triumphant in the light, almost mocking 'Parnasse with a hint of the life he could have had. A life of truth and hard work. He smirks. Those two qualities could never be applied him, not even when he was younger and just starting out with the Patron-Minette.

So why should he tell the truth now?

_Because Thenardier can always tell when you're lying. He's seen you do it enough times._

He slowly starts to walk back towards the house, back to the girl who belongs to him. His green eyes, the ones that, for a moment, shone truthfully be brightly, were now once again obscured by his hair, and his morals along with them. An old Roma woman calls out to him, but he ignores her, his mission weighing heavily enough on his shoulders without her having to guilt him out of it. He feels a desperate tug on his arm and he knows it's her.

A sigh escapes his mouth. 'Eponine should be thankful she's getting these few precious extra minutes with her lover,' he thinks as a charming smile grows on his face. The old woman pulls him to a chair and practically shoves him down onto it. Montparnasse complies, curious as to the woman's insistence that he come with her.

She grabs his palm and behind studying it with an intensity fit to rival 'Parnasse's own gaze. But for now he is relaxed, his sharp eyes dancing through the crowd and picking out potential victims.

The woman jerks his hand and he almost falls out of his chair.

"I see a woman..." She hisses, her raspy voice making the boy shudder with something he won't let himself call fear.

"She is beautiful...but her love is not for you." Her eyes are suddenly pointed at him, white and black mixed together to create a terrifyingly knowledgable mess.

"Yellow...there is a light in her life. But you will be the first to see her light go out." 'Parnasse finally admits his fear to himself as he tries to stand up.

"Let go of me." His voice sounds painfully desperate and comes out an octave higher than he'd intended. The old woman's grip tightens.

"There will be blood...blood and guns. She will not die alone...red. Red will cover her body, but you will merely be the observer." Her eyes aren't pretending to read his palm anymore; they are staring straight into Montparnasse's green ones, the eyes that are hidden to the rest of the world.

"She will die for love, Montparnasse," she says, and he jumps when he realizes that she'd just uttered his name.

"She will die for love...but you will suffer for it."

At that, the boy's eyes become clouded and hidden once more. He stands up and rips his hand out of the woman's grip and shoves her onto the ground.

"Filthy gypsy," he mutters under his breath as he stalks away, his mind filled with images that weren't there just a few moments before. He ignores her pleas, choosing to listen to his own mind; it had gotten him out of multiple messes, that was sure. But he doesn't know that the old Roma woman, the one who was truly gifted with foresight, had seen the truth. The woman he loved will die in the arms of another man, beneath a red flag. Beneath the storm of guns and yells of freedom. She will die, and the blonde man's angelic face will be the last one she sees. 'Parnasse, the boy who had always hid in the shadows, will watch the last ounce of life leave her eyes. And the old woman will be right.

He will not die with her.

But he will suffer more than she ever did.

**You know, I didn't think I'd actually update this, but when ideas fly into my brain, I find it easier to type them out rather than ignore them. And for those who are confused or interested, the ending is based on my story She Had Always Been His Patria.**


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